


the moth and the lightbulb

by the_reverse



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Watford Fifth Year, baz you dramatic asshole, no beta because i'm giving this to her, no mage because fuck the mage, no penny and agatha because this is a one shot, simon you oblivious idiot, you're awesome by the way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 14:31:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19443364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_reverse/pseuds/the_reverse
Summary: My father would say to attack now. He’s vulnerable, open. I could push him down and bite. He wouldn’t know what hit him.I know I could never do that. In the last moment, I would pull back and let him kill me. Let him stab me with his sword. Let him set me aflame. I don’t have a death wish, but I’m smart enough to know whenever we clash, it ends in flame.It's like I'm a moth and he’s an overheating lightbulb. The moth always flies too close and it’s paper thin wings burn until it drops to the ground. Killed by the only thing it ever wanted.Or, what if things went different when Simon confronted Baz in the Catacombs in Fifth Year.





	the moth and the lightbulb

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nightingale96](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightingale96/gifts).



> sup basilboy,  
> Happy birthday! Thank you for beta'ing for me countless times and sharing my love of Snowbaz. (Your very sticky noted copy of Carry On always makes me laugh, by the way). Hopefully my weird, definitely not strange questions about your favorite ships didn't give away the surprise.

** i. **

**Simon**

I’m pretty sure Baz is drunk.

I figured if I followed him around enough, he would have to break and catch something and then I would have proof. So I did. For around a week nothing happened. And then I woke up alone in our room.

I managed to get outside fast enough to see a figure disappearing into the Chapel. I knew the way to the Catacombs after our first encounter there, so it was easy to spot the figure (Baz) ducking behind the Poets Corner.

I thought I had him then. But he darted down corridor after corridor until I couldn’t remember how we came in anymore.

And then he reached the tomb.

He’s swaying like he’s dancing with a ghost, now. I can hear him whispering something under his breath. It’s only after I get closer that I realize he’s singing. It sounds like a lullaby.

He turns towards me and I notice his lips are redder than usual. _Vampire_ , I think. It could be blood. He manages to make it look like it’s meant to be there. It matches his vampiric look rather well, I think. Baz looks like Dracula if Dracula was an ethereal, drunk teenager.

God, I hate him.

He stops moving and sits down cross legged. He manages to make the movement look graceful and deliberate.

He’s facing me, but his eyes are glassy and he’s peering at a spot on the wall around four feet away from me. I know he can’t see me.

And oh. There are tears on his cheeks.

He’s not drunk, I realize. Just sad.

I wonder what would happen if I asked him what he was. Right here, right now. Would he tell the truth?

He’d probably laugh and say something cutting and intelligent and watch me choke on my own words. Watch me mess up, I mean. Sometimes I think he’s just waiting for me to. He waits with acid on his tongue, so when I do something stupid he can show me how much better he is. At magic. At words. At everything really. Everything except fencing, I guess.

I beat him once, in 3rd year. He was impressed, I could tell. His eyes widened a fraction and just for a second I saw him smile.

He beat me the second time around, but only because I was distracted.

I think about that smile a lot. Sometimes I swear I can see it playing on his lips out of the corner of my eye. But when I look at him, he’s only glaring at me. Daring me to say something. I never do.

Sometimes I think I want to see him smile again.

**Baz**

Snow.

**Simon**

Baz locks eyes with me and I freeze.

His eyes are the color of the sky when it’s about to rain. Or like the sea crashing onto jagged rocks. Dangerous. Completely evil. Looking at me.

I scramble to my feet and stumble backwards. Baz moves forward as I do (only _he_ manages to look like a professional dancer when he moves).

“Snow,” he says. If I didn’t know better I would say he’s happy to see me. It’s obviously a trap. He’s pretending to cry so I feel bad and get close to him. Then he’ll kill me. Or maybe he’s just trying to hypnotize me with his vampire eyes.

"In justice. In courage. In defence of the weak. In the face of the mighty. Through magic and wisdom and good,” I whisper. My sword appears in my hand and I hold it out in front of me. I beat him once, I can do it again.

**Baz**

Oh. He’s scared of me. Is there still blood on my mouth from the rat I caught before?

I lick my lips.

Snow’s eyes trail to my mouth. His grip on his sword loosens.

“Stop it!” he says, a flush creeps up his neck.

I laugh before I can stop myself. “What?”

He looks down, his golden hair falling into his eyes. “Nothing.”

I step forward so I can see him better in the dim light of the Catacombs

He’s still pointing his sword at me. I could spell it out of his hands if I wanted to, but I don’t have my wand.

Snow looks confused, but he’s usually confused. He looks better angry. His eyes burn with all his golden, misled, righteous fury. His hair goes wild too, with how much he runs his fingers through it. He does that when he’s nervous. Usually right before he goes off.

I wish we could stop. Fighting, arguing. Sometimes with words (usually me) and sometimes with fists (usually him). Even if it doesn't hurt, it’s pretty damn tiring.

**Simon**

Baz blinks at me for a moment or two. He’s tired, I can tell. There are smudges of grey under his eyes and his cheeks look hollow.

He’s sad. Sad and tired.

I let my sword fall. It disappears before it hits the ground.

**Baz**

“Why are you here?”

I step back, my body curling in on itself like a broken accordion. “Shouldn’t you have figured that out by now?” Go away, I think. Leave me here to my misery. “Why do you care now?”

We’re in the Catacombs. Nobody comes down here unless they’re mourning. What does he think I’m doing?

My father would say to attack now. He’s vulnerable, open. I could push him down and bite. He wouldn’t know what hit him.

I know I could never do that. In the last moment, I would pull back and let him kill me. Let him stab me with his sword. Let him set me aflame. I don’t have a death wish, but I’m smart enough to know whenever we clash, it ends in flame.

It's like I'm a moth and he’s an overheating lightbulb. The moth always flies too close and it’s paper thin wings burn until it drops to the ground. Killed by the only thing it ever wanted.

It’s a macabre image, even for me.

In the end, it doesn’t matter what I want. Our story ends with a death and it’s either mine or Snow’s. I could never kill him, so it’s me who dies. Keeping him away from me is the best I can do, so when he ends this it doesn’t destroy him.

Sometimes, though, I watch him laughing and pretend he’s mine. I count the freckles on the back of his neck and wonder what it would be like to kiss them. To kiss him.

I let myself wish as much as I want.

I should say something, but his eyes are pinning me and I can’t seem to move my mouth. My limbs feel warm and syrupy and even blinking feels like a chore.

“When was the last time you slept?” Snow actually looks worried.

I scoff. “I don’t sleep.” That’s true. I spend most nights watching him. I can’t help it.

He growls. “Why are you here?”

“Ask me in the morning,” I say, stifling a yawn. Snow doesn’t look convinced, but I don’t care. I just want to sleep. To forget this ever happened.

Maybe then the bitter longing will disappear.

**Simon**

Baz collapses into his bed as soon as I open the door.

I must have left a lamp on, because the golden light makes him look like he has a halo. It almost makes me laugh.

Baz would make a terrible angel. He’d spend too much time making sarcastic comments about people’s bad decisions to do anything. If sarcasm and wit were languages, Baz could write a dictionary.

He shifts slightly and I move to turn off the light.

I wonder what he dreams about.

** ii. **

**Baz**

I wake up because of a piercing headache and not a cold draft of wind from the window as I usually do. Snow usually gets up and opens it in the middle of the night.

It takes me a second to remember what day it is and when I do, I feel like going back to Mother’s grave and weeping more. But I dismiss the idea, because look how well _that_ turned out.

I turn to face Snow.

His eyes are open.

**Simon**

I nearly fall off the bed in surprise.

Baz’s eyes are sharp even when clouded with sleep.

He sits up, straightening his clothes and running a hand through his hair before fixing me with one of his _looks_.

“Were you watching me?” Baz arches an eyebrow lazily and pulls off his school vest. My throat goes tight.

“No!” It doesn’t matter if he believes me anyway. I wasn’t doing anything strange.

“Right,” he says, drawing out the word.

“What time is it?” I say, changing the subject.

Baz rolls his eyes. “We have an hour before class. It figures that _you_ wouldn't be able to read a clock.”

I can feel the blood rushing to my face. “Could you just—”

Baz smirks. “Just what, Snow? Use your words.”

I don’t know why I even tried. I get to my feet quickly and shut myself in the bathroom.

Bastard.

**Baz**

It’s devastatingly easy to work him up. He doesn’t have composure on a good day and he wears his emotions on his sleeve.

I groan as the headache by my temples blooms outwards. I grab my wand and point it at my head. **_“Get well soon!”_ **

It works. Relief spreads from my forehead back and I stretch, laying back onto my bed.

The door opens again after a while. Snow flops onto his bed and towels off his hair.

“Are you going,” he asks, propping himself up on his elbows.

“No, Snow. I don’t want to deal with you flooding the bathroom,” I say, sneering.

He scowls at me. “Why were you in the Catacombs last night?”

“Why is anyone in the Catacombs?”

“You said you’d tell me in the morning.” Crowley, he’s thick.

“Why should I tell you.”

“I’ll… I’ll trade with you.”

That actually makes me laugh. “What could you _possibly_ have that I would want?”

**Simon**

I grin. “Secrets.”

Baz still looks amused. “Not good enough.”

I shrug. “Fine. You can ask me anything.”

He smirks at me, sharp and unpredictable. Uncertainty swirls in my stomach, but I forge onwards anyway.

“Deal,” he says.

I hold my hand out to him. He blinks at it for a moment, before shaking it.

His hands are cold, impossibly so. Like marble in a museum. They’re sculpted like marble too. Long, elegant fingers and smooth palms.

**Baz**

“They bury people in the Catacombs. I was visiting someone.”

His eyes widen imperceptibly and then his face softens. I grimace, ready for the pity, but it doesn’t come.

“Your mum, right?” he says, his voice soft. His eyes crinkle at the corners. Why is he being so… good? “Tell me about her.”

“She… she was a great magician. A legend, people say.”

Snow shakes his head. “What do _you_ think of her?”

I smile sadly. “I know she was powerful.” Not enough to save herself. “I know Father loved her.” Not enough to stop him from marrying Daphne.

I’m silent for a moment, suspended by Snow’s blue eyes. And then I add, “I know she loved me.” I laugh, an empty one. “Not enough.”

Snow’s brow furrows. I laugh again. “She was bitten, you know? And then she set herself on fire. So she wouldn’t have to live like me. I didn’t even know until I saw the newspaper clipping in Fiona’s drawer.”

**Simon**

So he is a vampire.

 _Monster_ , my mind whispers.

No, not a monster. Just Baz.

“Are you going to run back to the Mage?” he continues, scoffing.

I shake my head and unfasten the cross from my neck. Baz’s eyes follow it.

I think I want to kiss him.

I think he wants me to kiss him.

“What are you doing?” I can hear his voice shaking slightly.

“What do you _want_ me to do?” I say.

Baz swallows.

**Baz**

I want to kiss him.

I want to kiss him until I can’t think or breathe.

**Simon**

I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t even know what I’m thinking.

**Baz**

“Simon...” I say.

And then his lips are meeting mine.

**Simon**

My hands are in his hair. I’ve always wanted to do that. It’s softer than I’d imagined.

His lips are cool, but his mouth isn’t.

**Baz**

Everything about him is hot.

He takes my bottom lip in his teeth and tugs and I fall apart in his hands.

**Simon**

"Fair trade?" I ask, breathless.

Baz just laughs and leans in to kiss me again.

**iii.**

**Simon**

I can’t stop smiling.

I know I look like an idiot. Baz even told me so when I came back from Political Science, though he kissed me again right afterward so I don’t think he meant it.

I can stare at him now, and he’ll look back at me and smile. I could watch him smile for hours.

Penny dragged me to the library until nightfall, so it’s dark by the time I reach our room. 

Baz is sitting on the bed, every part of him immaculate.

I move to sit on the bed next to him and ruffle his hair. I expect him to snap at me, but instead he just turns towards me. He’s smiling, this funny, fond smile.

I want to kiss it off his lips.

So I do.

_fin_


End file.
